Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name (8 page)

The doorbell rang, disrupting my special dog hour with Timo. The clock on the opposite wall told me it was a few minutes after eight, and I couldn’t imagine who’d be visiting me without even calling first. Tired, frustrated from an undermining day of Lovello, and wretchedly hungry, I really couldn’t afford a guest right now. I trudged to the door anyway and wrenched it open, revealing the crouched figure of my college boyfriend, Zane Zekiel. Dressed in all-black with a red leash around his neck, Zane was on his knees at my doorway, head bowed, waiting patiently for me to take up the leash and tug him in.

Resting my head against the side of the door, I sighed. “Zane, I’ve told you, I don’t do this anymore. Why would you tempt me like this?”

He kept his head down. “Please, Axia. I need it. I’ve been bad.”

“But I’m not your Domme. I haven’t been for years.” Though he did come to me occasionally, whenever he missed me, and I him. “Where’s Tatiana?”

“Like you, she’s retired.”

Oh great, I sighed again, this is just what I
don’t
need. “Zane, get up. I can’t talk to you when you’re like that. It’s too … tempting.”

“Pull me in, my heart. Please.”

“You didn’t obey, Zane.”

He chuckled slightly but he still didn’t look up at me. “You know it wasn’t a command, so don’t say that. Please, pull me in.”

Out of frustration, I grabbed the leash and pulled him in, slamming the door behind us.

“Zane, stop. Stand up and talk to me. You know I can’t do this.”

He obeyed this time, rising to his feet and giving me a reminder that he was a whole foot taller than me. With chocolate-dark skin and gold-flecked hazel-brown eyes, hazels that were so captivating it was hard to look away from them, Zane had wide shoulders and a build that was fat-free. No joke. He was a man of muscles. Not bulky, hulk-like muscles, but muscles that were befitting to his proportion, taut and hard. Tall, dark, damned good-looking and muscled.

Now a professional basketball player, Zane Zekiel used to be the most popular guy back in school, and I was the pretty half-Hispanic girl by his side. He was the first man for me, the man who changed me into me. When I’d first met him he was, outwardly, the guy who had the whole leadership, tough-guy thing going for him. Captain of the basketball team, head of the popular clique on campus, parents that were moneyed, and basically everyone wanted to be his friend.

After dating for five months, he felt he could invest his trust into me and reveal what he was really like. Zane was a guy who liked to be punished, whipped, battered. He gained some sick pleasure from pain. Zane wanted to be ruled, and he wanted
me
to rule him. At that time, I was young, never heard of this kind of depraved thing before, and was scared out of my wits because I couldn’t understand it.

But he’d coaxed me, told me he would train me and there was nothing to fear, that I would fall in love with it when I saw the power it gave me. He’d told me he knew I had it in me because he’d watched me for months and saw how dictatorial and unbendable I was, that he knew he’d found the right girl, finally.

Because I’d loved him to pieces with every grain of dust that made up my body, and would’ve done
anything
he wanted me to, I’d succumbed. I hadn’t fallen in love with his sick world, though. I merely did it for him. Because he wanted it, and I wanted him.

Two years later, Zane broke up with me for an older woman, Tatiana, who he claimed was “more experienced and severe” in that area. That had served to make me grow vile and cold, and addicted to punishing. He was the center of my world, I’d loved him beyond measure and he’d broken my heart. Still, he refused to stay out of my life. He didn’t want to be with me, but he didn’t want to be without me.

None of my subsequent Subs stayed with me for more than three months, leaving with complaints that I was ruthless and loveless, that Dommes were to show affection to their Subs. What they didn’t seem to realize was that I wasn’t a genuine Domme, that I didn’t care for it. I was just angry as hell and needed an outlet to release my never-dying wrath.

On occasion, Zane would appear at my door like this and I’d always be happy to see him, ready to play. And when I was ruthlessly punitive, he’d only smile in satisfaction afterward and comment on how much better I was getting at it. The man was blind to the fact that I was just still bloody angry. No, I wasn’t a Domme. I was just an irate woman with a whip in my hand.

“What do you want, Zane?”

“My heart, I know you’re trying to walk away from this, but I really need you right now. I
need
you.”

“Why do you want to be punished?”

He hung his head. “I’ve been slipping up too much on the court. I’ve been benched for two whole games.” He lifted his head and pressed his palm to his chest. “Me! Zane Zekiel! It’s just total bullshit.”

“So why do you think you’re slipping up?”

His broad shoulders jerked in a shrug. “I dunno. Maybe it’s because Tatiana quit at it. You quit at it. And I just haven’t had a good hiding in a while. You know I can’t just trust anyone, or else I’ll face the media. It’s bothering me that I’m gonna have to go through the whole process of finding someone trustworthy again. I just don’t have the time for that right now. My days are spent training, flying or gaming. You know how it is in reg-season.”

“You’re whining like a damn bitch. Start using non-disclosure agreements and contracts. It’s simple.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. But I need you now, Axia. Please, it’s just punishment as ususual, no sex, I promise. Don’t make me beg. I cleared a lot of important things just to fly here to see you. So you must know how much I need you.”

“Zane, do you care about me at all?”

“You know I do. I’ve
never
been out of your life. I love you and I always will.”

“No, you don’t! You’ve messed me up as person, big time. And I’m trying to change and here you are trying to haul me back into your fucked-up lifestyle.”

Zane smiled at me, which only made me angrier. “God, I’ve missed you yelling at me in that sexy accent.”

“Did you hear what I just said?!”

His smile widened. “Hmm, Miss Blacksille, I’m not sure I did. I’ve been distracted…”

Enraged, I picked up his leash and yanked hard until he was on his knees. Glowering down at him, I snarled, “You’re in my house and you
will
listen when I speak!”

He blinked and his eyes immediately went passive. “Yes, Mistress “

Oh hell … “Zane, we’re not playing!”

He frowned. “We’re not?”

Beyond frustrated, I was instantly reminded of a certain irritating plague. Just then I realized that I’d fallen for another one of Zane’s tricks. He knew what he was doing. He knew that the only way to get his way tonight was to get me irate. And I’ve stepped right into it. Now it was too late to step out, because I was doubly enraged by the memories of today’s events when I was completely undermined by a certain pretty boy. I remember how I’d wanted to whip his ass when he’d spoken ill about women.

Zane saw and knew I’d bought into his trick, because he visibly relaxed, patiently awaiting orders.

“I’ve been cleaning out The Room. So there’s not many implements left. We’ll have to improvise.” The leash fell from my hands. “Get inside and assume in center.”

Zane started crawling on all fours towards The Room. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I lashed in that voice I reserved for playtime.

“Sorry. I mean: Yes, Mistress”

Mollified, I hopped over a balled-up and snoring Timo and headed to my bedroom. I stripped bare then got dressed in a black leather corset, tiny leather shorts and leather thigh-highs. I coiled my ponytail in a tight bun, then retrieved my favorite whip hidden in my closet.

When I entered The Room, Zane had stripped down to his boxers, his red leash still around his neck. He was kneeling, head bowed, in the middle of the room, his taut dark-chocolate skin looking amazing under the dim glow of red light, with his massive angel wings tattoo spreaded across his back.

The tile floors echoed the soft click of my heels as I slowly walked towards him, poised and ready to inflict pain. I circled his huge, masculine figure and cracked my whip. Damn, I’ve missed that sound.

“So, Zane Zekiel,” I began in my smooth and seductive playtime voice. “I hear you’ve been a bad boy…”

A week later, I was ruffling about in my bedroom packing a suitcase to make it in time to the airport for my flight to L.A. I’d scarcely agreed to doing the cover shoot with Prime Size magazine when they rallied back with an immediate date. I hadn’t been a bitch about it, however. In fact, I’ve been perfectly relaxed and content since, one: giving Zane an amazing hiding. And two: Pretty Plague Nelson kept his word and ended his pursuit.

The annoyance, disruption and distraction were gone and I was back to my usual self again: in control and focused. It would be raw dishonesty and sinful prevarication if I said I hadn’t thought about him, though. In my thoughts, he’d been there. In my dreams, there he was. In my fantasies, oh sweet leather whips, he was there! Naked, tethered, and red as a rose from my lashings.

But those were the only places he was allowed to be. Being in my life for real was not an option. He held a certain power over me that no one else had ever had, and he read me too well. Around him, I had to be sharp and alert, shield perpetually in position. For he was too damn good at seducing and I was too damn bad at resisting.

There were truths, and there were lies. The praise Sadie gave me for being possibly the only woman unaffected by his charms was undeserved, because I
was
affected by him and, yes, I liked him. But there’s truth in it that I didn’t want him. I didn’t. It would be disastrous.

The second I zipped my suitcase closed, my cellphone howled. I eased it from my jeans pocket and flopped back onto the bed, smiling at the caller ID. “Hey, Mom.”

Timo lurched up onto the bed to curl up beside me and I raked my fingers through his soft fur.

“Axia! Baby, how are you?”

“Good. Just finished packing for L.A.”

“For … ?”

“Forgot to tell you, Prime Size magazine wants me on their cover for next month’s issue.”

“Since when did you start accepting proposals?”

I laughed. “I accepted this because Prime Size is one of my fave mags. You know that, too. Plus, it’s just a photo shoot. It’s not a hefty, turn-me-into-a-celebrity thing like the other proposals. This I can deal with.”

“Okay. Well, I’m never truly worried when it comes to you. You always seem to know what you’re doing and have your life under control. Just like your mother, you know your ass from your elbow,” she laughed in her deep Hispanic accent. “Anyway, I’m calling to let you know I’ll be flying in next week.”

“Miss Dad already?”

“Oh hush! I’m not coming to see your father, I’m coming to see
you
.”

Laughter spewed from me. “You always get just as defensive as Dad does whenever I mention you. You two are the strangest divorced couple I’ve ever known.”

My mother, Seleste D’costa-Blacksille was a Colombian native who’d came to the U.S. on a student visa. Here she met my father, they’d fallen instantly in love and tied the knot eighteen months afterwards when she got knocked up with my brother, Romaine. A fleeting two years later, I was conceived.

Being obsessively besotted with each other, what they’d looked past in the beginning was the fact that they were both the same: strong-headed, domineering, intractable and completely
unwilling
to compromise. The love they had for each other blazed in wild flames as high as prison walls, never once wavering, so they tried to make it work. But it was impossible for two dominant people to be together, someone had to submit and neither was willing to. As a result, despite the intense love that burned between them, they reluctantly divorced.

My father insisted that my mother kept his name, vowing he wasn’t ever going to love another, therefore he was never going to remarry, that there was no other woman in the world that he wanted to have his last name. The lawyers had said it was the most loving, tear-jerking divorce session they’d ever witnessed, that they couldn’t fathom why my parents were going through with it. Seleste and Vince have always been known as the divorced couple who remained married. After the divorce, I’d spent the majority of my formative years in Colombia with my mother, which is how I ended up with a subtle accent. My brother had stayed back in L.A with Dad when I chose to go with my mother, but I’d eventually came back to attend college.